People who know and love Jesus Christ exude a great joy. Every day, Catholics who make a witness of their faith to the people around them heal others through their work. The Acts of the Apostles demonstrate the power that comes from awakened believers who give witness through their words and deeds.

One of the greatest fears of my childhood was getting caught doing something bad and having to face my dad. It’s not that he was mean or abusive, it’s just that I did not want to disappoint him, and this caused a knee-jerk reaction of fear whenever such situations would arise.

I once had a priest tell me, “If you want good friends, you first have to be a good friend.” Since I heard this, I have tried to be a good friend when my friends call on me. That has included staying up late with friends who are going through a difficult time, dropping everything I’m doing to pick up someone who went walking and then got caught in the rain, and being vulnerable and asking for forgiveness when I have done something to offend a friend.

I have found my own attention to the word “mercy” heightened in the prayers of the Mass, in the daily psalms and in the Office of Readings. On Divine Mercy Sunday, following Mass, I wrote the following reflection:

In the readings this weekend, we arrive at a very pivotal moment in the great bread of life discourse. Until now, Jesus has only required belief in him as the one sent by the father, a belief difficult enough in itself. He has done many things to merit our belief, like feeding the 5,000 and walking on water. But in the Scripture for Aug. 16, he challenges us to put our belief into action in a very unpalatable way: to eat his body and drink his blood.

The Sea of Galilee is below sea level, within a bowl of hills, and very subject to unpredictable storms. After a hard day’s preaching, Jesus, who governs the universe, is stretched out, asleep in a boat during a violent storm. The apostles’ maritime skills were not enough to endure the waves, so as a last resort, they turn to Jesus to calm the sea.

“Sing, my tongue, the Savior’s glory, of His Flesh, the mystery sing; of the Blood, all price exceeding, shed by our Immortal King, destined, for the world’s redemption, from a noble Womb to spring” (Hymn Pange Lingua, St. Thomas Aquinas).

The Roman soldiers, who among their other acts of violence against Jesus placed a crown of thorns on his head, were correct about one thing: He is a king. This painful irony is not lost on us, especially when we pray the third sorrowful mystery of the rosary.